


The beginning of the end

by gonattsaga



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brothers, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, LOTR reference, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, start from scratch, the small things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:07:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonattsaga/pseuds/gonattsaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalypse is over. And it's the beginning of the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this was written before season six. And obviously it's intended to be slash, although it's only implied thus far. I might continue this, but I might not. There's no major cliffhanger at the end or anything, though. So this could definitely be read as a stand-alone.
> 
> (My only Supernatural fic, so far!)

They have a moment. As the ashes settle around them and they’ve done a quick mental inventory of their injuries and concluded that, _fuck, I’m alive_ , they slowly look up again and seek each other out in the crowd. And that’s the moment. They stand there, staring at each other, mirrored looks of _what the fuck_ on their faces; what the fuck just happened? What the fuck are we still doing in one piece? What the fuck, _dude_ , we stopped the Apocalypse and lived to tell the tale!

And Sam feels sick.

Because, Dean might’ve always expected to go out with a bang like this, the Rock’n Roll life and death of a hunter, and he might not have a clue about where he goes from here, but he’ll figure it out. And he’ll eventually have the happy ending he never dared to dream of. But Sam … as he stands there, rooted to the spot and staring into his brother’s face, he’s hit with a second realisation and it’s so much worse; he’ll have the happy ending he always did dream of, and no longer want.

Growing up that’s all he ever dreamed of, ever wished for, ever planned in secret on sleepless nights; the normal life. Now the prospect of normalcy terrifies him. He knows it’s too late. He’s too far gone for that life now. If it was ever really an option for him at all. _Probably not_ , he thinks.

Looking around at the world, broken but still there, _saved_ , and looking at the people scrambling around checking for survivors in need of first aid, Dean still standing there, still just taking it in like he still can’t quite believe it, still soaking it up, Sam knows that somehow the world has ended after all. Not for the teenage girl with pigtails draping a blanket over the dead man with the broken glasses, not for the woman hugging her, _living_ , baby to her chest and thanking the skies, not for any of the people scurrying to and fro across the crumbled square, but for him. Sam Winchester.

And it should be okay. It really should. He should be so used to putting other people’s well being before his own by now that it should be normal, should feel like any other day on the job, except that it doesn’t. and it’s not remotely okay either.

Looking over at Dean again, Sam can see that the _hit in the face with a frying pan_ look has slid off and he’s now grinning at Sam. His face is still an ashen white and the shadows around his eyes are still Halloween dark, but he’s grinning. And then he’s moving towards Sam until he’s right in his face, beaming like an insomniac on caffeine pills, grabbing his shoulders, shaking him almost, saying _Sammy, Sammy, we did it, dude, we did it_. And Sam feels like maybe he’ll throw up a little. But in the end doesn’t.

The grin quickly washes off of his brother’s face though, and there’s worry in his eyes instead, and hands patting him down, and questions fired at him, did he receive a blow to the head, and _what’s the matter, Sammy_ …

“No”, he croaks out, he didn’t receive a blow to the head.

“No, what? Are you okay, Sammy?”

“No”, Sam says again and then Dean is frowning at him, so he changes his mind and says, “Yes, I mean, I’m yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m not hurt.”

The answer doesn’t seem to appease Dean at all. Sam moves out of his grasp, crosses his arms, and feels a bit guilty for ruining Dean’s mood, for worrying him, for stepping away from him like this, he feels a bit guilty, but not nearly as much as he probably should. In fact he doesn’t feel anything but sick, and empty, when he really thinks about it. And he wants to let his brother in, but how do you explain this feeling, this irrational knowledge, especially to someone like Dean?

They spend the afternoon helping wounded survivors and tracking down an abandoned car that hasn’t been too badly beaten up. Dean hotwires it and they drive until they find a smashed supermarket crawling with looters and get out to do a bit of shopping of their own. Dean doesn’t corner him again until they’re in the frozen foods section scouting for acceptably sell by dated pizzas.

“Dude, sure you’re okay”, he says, but it’s all in the way he says it and Sam knows Dean well enough, _inside-and-out_ , that he’s fluent in his subtext.

He sighs and stalls and checks the nutrition facts on a packet of green peas. Dean doesn’t press him further, but when he glances up he’s gazing back like he can keep asking him all night, lips pursed and all. Sam sighs again and puts the peas back on their shelf.

“We set out to save the world, Dean”, he says. “And it’s been saved … but not for me.”

Only when he squares his shoulders and return Dean’s gaze head on, fully prepared to argue his point, does he realize that Dean isn’t about to argue back at all. In fact, he’s staring at Sam as though he’s just seen him suck demon blood off a corpse, and it throws Sam off entirely and he squeaks a _what_ , muscle-memory making him cringe like he’s done something wrong.

“Dude …” Dean murmurs. “Are you quoting _Frodo_ at me?”

“ _What?_ … okay, maybe that was a bit cheesy. But that doesn’t make it any less true, Dean! Look, man … I don‘t know, it‘s like, I don‘t have a purpose anymore now, you know, what‘s the point?”

Dean’s face gradually shifts into a shield of apprehension, he says his name, _Sam_ , drags it out like a warning, but the worry is back in his eyes.

“Look, Dean, we did it. We stopped the Apocalypse. The war is over. I’ve no use anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well, same goes for me, Sam, but at least we both survived, we still have each other …”

Sam is already shaking his head, but Dean keeps talking, a string of words tumbling out of his mouth, words like _brother_ , and _family_ , and _together_ , and _team_. Sam says, _No_.

“No?”

“No. Not you, Dean. You can have a normal life now. A family of your own. A home.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who always wanted a white picket fence-”

“No, you did. You just never thought it would happen … I thought I _wanted_ it for the same reason.”

“And what, now you don’t?”

“I’m a freak, Dean”, Sam says and shrugs, because it’s not a big deal, not anymore, he’s come to terms with it by now, and it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

“So, we’ll keep hunting. You and me”, Dean keeps insisting. “we make a good team, Sammy, despite everything that’s happened we still make a good team, you got my back, I got yours, it works-”

And maybe Sam slams the door to one of the thawing freezers a bit too hard and maybe the broken glass shatters a bit more and sprinkle on the floor between them and maybe Dean flinches at the sound, but Sam doesn’t as much as register it. He folds his arms to keep his hands from fisting, hugs them to his chest, but his voice is soft and calm like he’s questioning a traumatized eye witness.

“You can have normal now, Dean”, he says, subtly enunciating, because Dean isn’t getting it, but he still doesn’t want to pick a fight by talking down to him.

“Who says I want it”, Dean shoots back at him.

The fight is looming. Sam has to sigh several times to push his heart rate down. Dean has his stubborn face on, though and there’s no point in trying to change his mind, not right now at least.

“What are we gonna hunt, Dean?” he asks instead, the exhaustion of a lifetime suddenly weighing down on him.

Dean must have noticed the change in him. He seems to relax. He shifts his feet. Hands hanging in surrender at his sides, palms exposed against his jeans. He gives his head a minute shake.

“What do you mean, what we always hunt, Sammy, what we were hunting long before we even knew about angels and demons …”

“It was a demon that got us into hunting in the first place, Dean.”

“There are still monsters out there. Poltergeists, angry spirits, vampires … you want the whole list? Every thing not human with a body count, it’s our job to track down and put down.”

Sam actually considers it, he does, actually wants to believe for a moment that it could happen, that they could just keep going, just pick up where they left off before it all went to Hell, literally. But he knows it’s not going to happen, not very deep down he knows, because it’s too late, lifetimes too late, to go back to how things were. And he knows Dean.

His big brother. His caretaker. His Dean.

He knows they’ll help clean up the mess around them, gather and store food, burn corpses, organize survivors, rebuild the world; he knows Dean will have every intention of resuming the never-ending hunt eventually, but he won’t feel as strongly about it, and Sam knows he’s tired, knows he’s a thirty-year-old body harbouring a hundred-year-old spirit, and he guesses that will happen when you’ve cheated Death thrice.

Where he’s more or less regretfully turned his back on any opportunity of a relationship, a family and a home, that has presented itself to him in the past, now he won’t see the need. He’ll meet someone. Of that, Sam’s sure. It’ll be a nurse or a doctor or something. Someone real. They’ll be working side by side, saving lives and stitching up wounds. He’ll flirt and crack jokes because that’s what Dean does. She’ll laugh and flirt back because she’ll need to feel like all isn’t lost. And Dean will feel that too when he hears her laugh and sees the light return to her eyes. Yes, he’ll fall in love, of that Sam’s sure. And that is when Sam loses him.

Selfishly he’d hoped they wouldn’t survive the war, or at least that he wouldn’t. Dean might be able to heal given enough time and pie, and eventually have a somewhat normal, happy life, but Sam is broken beyond repair, and maybe he has been since the Yellow-eyed Demon bled into his mouth, it doesn’t matter anymore, but he’s too much of a freak and it’s not his destiny to be a lawyer and live inside the frame of a white picket fence. He’s accepted that a long time ago. He’s found his place in the world. Even after the end, it’s still here, where it always was, even when Sam lost sight of it or pretended not to see it, it was here, by Dean’s side. This is where he started off. This is where he’s ended up. This is home.

But if Dean isn’t here, on the other hand. Then Sam no longer has anywhere to be. And he’s tried that life before. Each time got harder, and this time, Sam doesn’t think he’ll live out the night.

“Yeah”, he says anyway, because Dean is still waiting for a reply. “Hunting.”

“Sammy?”

“No, you’re right, Dean. Of course. I’m a hunter. Of course I’ll continue hunting … that’s what I’ll do.”

“What we’ll _both_ do”, Dean insists.

“Yeah … whatever …”

The shards of glass jingle as he drags his feet through them. They’re tiny. Like little diamonds or crystals that’ve lost their rainbows. He keeps walking through them. Keeps walking past Dean and down the aisle.

“Hey”, Dean barks at his retreating back.

Sam ignores him until he’s pulled to a halt, pulled by Dean’s fingers, bruising his arm. He wrenches free of their grasp and spins around to face his brother once more. Pulse quickening at the sheer familiarity of the scene, this _in your face, fists curling, tears prickling_ , drama scene that almost makes him feel nostalgic.

“Whatever, Dean”, he yells. “You’re not listening to me anyway!”

“I am listening”, Dean yells back in defence, steeling himself for the fight, maybe they’ll throw a few punches and pound some of that tension out of each other, maybe they’ll yell themselves hoarse, maybe Sam will come up with something altogether new, whatever, he’s ready for it. “I am listening, but you’re not saying anything that’s making sense! You want to be a hunter, you _don‘t_ want to be a hunter! It‘s getting pretty hard to keep up with you freaking mood swings, Sammy, but I‘m trying-”

“ _Trying_?”

“Yeah, you know what, I _am_ trying, I’ve been trying for _years_ , my _whole fucking life_ , okay, Sam, and I used to think I had a pretty good idea, but lately I haven’t got the faintest clue, so why don’t you make both of our lives a helluva lot easier and just fucking _tell me_ what you want!”

“ _I want to be with you!_ ” Sam blurts before he can stop himself.

He chokes on his next breath and bites down on his tongue to make sure he won’t say anything else. Dean doesn’t notice, though. He’s throwing his arms out to the sides, eyes bulging out, head bobbing around briefly.

“I’m right here, Sammy…”

“Yeah… now you are”, Sam mumbles. “Look, Dean, it doesn’t matter what I want anymore, okay. For once, and probably for the first time in my life, _you_ get to want. And I‘m not going to stand in the way of that. I just won‘t.”

“Right… of what I want.”

“Yeah.”

“And what is that again? Remind, please.”

“Dean…”

“No, really, Sammy, remind me, I seem to have forgotten, what is it I want again, is it a girlfriend or a wife perhaps, maybe a hot nurse? Mum and dad to be alive? A house? A job?”

“Whatever, Dean-”

“Well, forget it! I’m a hunter. Sam. It’s what I am. It’s in my blood just as much as it is in yours - and you know what else? I like it. No, scratch that, I _love_ it. I do, Sam. I love my baby on the open road. I love killing all the evil sons of bitches I can get my hands on. And I can’t wait to get back on a good old classic hunt again now that this stupid demon-angel show down is finally over… I‘ll tell you what I _don‘t want_ , though… I don‘t want to do it alone.”

Dean says it like he means it, and Sam knows he does, means every syllable, right now. And yeah, maybe they’ll drive around for a while, maybe they’ll hunt one or two ghosts, maybe they’ll reach some kind of semblance of what they once had, when it was all they had, but for how long?

Dean might like the thrill of a hunt, might need to feel power of the Impala under him as he speeds along the open road, but he doesn’t need Sam for either of those things, not really. Yes, driving does get boring after a few hours with no-one to talk to, but Dean will be able to play his stupid cassette tapes, all of them, non-stop, on full volume instead of trying not to listen to whatever Sam has to say. _Yeah_ , Sam thinks, Dean doesn’t really need him. He just needs _someone_. Because Dean can’t be alone. Because Dean is always alone. Has always _been_ alone. His entire life.

And maybe now he’ll be able to meet someone. To be with someone. And not have to feel alone anymore. And Sam feels sick but he knows he can’t stand in the way, as much as he wants to, he can’t keep his place by Dean’s side, his place in the world, because as long as he does, there’s no place for anyone else to take.

“…Okay”, Sam says finally. _We’ll see_ , is what he thinks, and judging by the look on Dean’s face he knows it but he lets it slides, _ditto_ , his eyebrow twitches back at Sam, and then, giving him a wink and a clap on the shoulder, Dean swaggers down the aisle towards the snacks section.

After a moment, Sam follows.

 

 

The end.


End file.
